


Brightly Colored Bandaids

by Onlymostydead



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst?, F/M, Poetic style, Relationship is implied/future, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 16:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12511740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onlymostydead/pseuds/Onlymostydead
Summary: Link didn't know when it started.He had to have been young, it wasn't really a habit you picked up when you were older.A habit.Most people's habits were simple.





	Brightly Colored Bandaids

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even ship this pairing, but when it happens, it happens. If you know that you will be upset by reading self-injury please don't read- I know what it's like to be there and it really isn't good for you.

Link didn't know when it started.  
He had to have been young, it wasn't really a habit you picked up when you were older.

A habit.

Most people's habits were simple- they bit their nails, they twirled their hair, or they didn't clean their rooms.  
He couldn't help it- he didn't know when it started but he had to have been young. Bored in class or something- so it began.

Pick pick pick.

At his skin, turning pinker beneath his pinching fingers. Around his fingernails, at the inside of his wrist- he did it for no reason.  
It was just a habit- like chewing gum loudly, or twirling your hair. It was just a habit and there was nothing wrong with it.

Link didn't know why it never stopped- it just didn't.  
It wasn't really a problem, of course. It want a problem until his hands were bloody messes that were difficult to write with. It didn't matter until there was a hole on the inside of his wrist.  
It didn't matter until he was doing it to distract himself from other things because then it was wrong, it was bad.

It was just a habit- but one that could spiral out of control.  
He always washed off the skin afterwards- but whenever things got too much-

Pick pick pick.

Until his skin bled beneath his fingertips. But it wasn't a problem- it was just a habit, and he didn't pick his hands anymore so it wasn't hard to write.  
He wasn't sure when it started- and he wasn't sure it would end.

But people notice. People notice in class when Link is called on by a teacher- whenever the stress is on him they see it as he picks at the skin of his wrist, at the scab that has already formed there. People see it and they wonder.  
It doesn't look like a habit, it looks like a problem.  
Did you see Link in class?  
They way he barely looked awake as his fingers-

Pick pick pick

At the skin of his arm. People notice and they talk.

She approached him. Her face was kind and soft and in her hands there was something bright green. Her name was Mipha and she had a bandaid.  
For his problem.

It's not a problem, just a habit- but she gently placed the bright green bandaid over the hole where the scab used to be, and offers a smile to go with it.

Link picks at the bandaids. He picks at the edges, at the middle- trying to loosen it but also just trying to sate that spot in his head.  
It's just a habit- not an addiction.  
He just wants to see himself bleed.

But he knows the gentle smile that comes the next day- after he's moved further down his wrist, after his skin in bleeding once more.  
She's always patient. More than he deserves.  
He doesn't deserve her patience with his problems. But still she sticks brightly colored bandaids over the holes in his skin.

Pink. Blue. Yellow. Green.

And the edges are all a bit frayed but he makes sure they stay on.  
Because Mipha gave them to him. Even though she knows he won't stop she continues to stick them on.  
But now it's just the edges that entice him- and he

Pink pick picks

At the edges of those brightly colored bandaids. He doesn't need the blood, he tells himself. He doesn't need the blood.

But sometimes he does. Sometimes it's a problem and he picks a hold in the skin lower on his wrist, but he knows what will come tomorrow-

A gentle smile, and a brightly colored bandaid.

**Author's Note:**

> My writing blog on Tumblr is Supertinywords if you're interested- plenty of updates and tidbits of upcoming works!  
> Comments are love <3


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